


an eye for quality

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: Harold gives John a gift.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	an eye for quality

Despite his disdain for weapons, Harold likes to think he has an eye for quality. The antique sword is beautiful, in excellent condition, likely worth every penny—and he spends a significant number of them on it. Even he can't help admiring it as he purchases it, then again later as he hands it over. Its blade gleams in the Library's dim light as John slips it from its sheath, the brilliant, polished steel catching every golden beam as John turns the sword over in his hands, tests its weight, studies it, while Harold hopes it keeps him from noticing the flush suffusing his cheeks.

The look of restrained joy in John's eyes is far more breathtaking than the sword, quelling all the self-questioning Harold has done over the gift and leaving him with a different sort of nervousness fluttering inside him. Oh, John is beautiful—like a man out of time, a fierce protector of yore in an anachronistic suit standing before Harold's computers, blade in hand. A hero of legend guarding over them all, ever-ready to go into battle for those without a savior.

It is, Harold must admit, quite the fanciful comparison—though not without merit. Few in this day and age are well-suited for wielding a sword. John, who treats saving others like a sacred duty, unquestionably is.

"This is nice," John says, with a small but genuine smile. Harold can't help smiling back, just a little twitch of a grin, hoping he doesn't look like the smitten fool he is. At John's sincere, "Thank you," his heart skips like he's young again

He knows how he should respond—with distance. _"Think nothing of it, Mr. Reese,"_ perhaps. Something professional. Or maybe some sort of joke, an amused, _"Just...perhaps you shouldn't let Ms. Shaw see you with this if you'd care to keep it."_ But there's a feeling building inside him that he thought he would never feel again, warm and effervescent and utterly _terrifying_ in his chest, made better or worse—he can't quite decide—by the fondness of John's gaze and all the unprofessional reasons he was looking at swords in the first place.

"I thought you would appreciate it," Harold says instead, softly, and those words are all wrong, too. He never has been any good at this. But as he speaks, he reaches out, trembling, and lets his fingers brush John's around the hilt of the sword, and oh, _that_. John understands that, his gaze snapping sharply to Harold's, blue-gray eyes filled with vulnerability. Harold shivers, and swallows hard around the breath catching in his throat. "John, I—"

"Yeah," John says, barely over a whisper, his smile spreading as Harold's hand closes around his. John's skin is so warm, yet it seems cool in comparison to the feeling blossoming in Harold's chest over that tender, nervous smile. "I...yeah. I think...me too."

Breaking the contact, John slides the sword back into its scabbard, then sets it aside, propping it against a nearby filing cabinet. He turns to Harold, and takes Harold's hands in his. "Thank you," he repeats, moving his hands up Harold's arms, sliding them around to splay broad and warm on Harold's back, and he draws Harold in, while Harold's own hands find their place on John's body, mirroring his hold.

It feels good to hold John, to be held by him, pressed tight and comfortable to his broad frame, and it eases some of the fear quickening Harold's heart. With a small, pleased sigh, Harold leans into him, breathing him in. He smells good, clean and content and warm, coffee and skin—like John, familiar and dear.

John brushes a kiss against his temple, just the softest touch of dry lips to Harold's skin. Harold's heart quivers, then calms. He smiles again and lets it stay.

"Is this..." John begins, words floating against Harold's cheek. "Are we..."

So many ways that question could go, but John voices none of them. "We are...us," Harold says, and John draws back, just a little, his hopeful eyes meeting Harold's. "And I think we will become something even better after this."

He slips a hand up to the back of John's neck, and he draws John down into a kiss.


End file.
